The Lion at Sea (8 page)

On the quarter deck, Captain Everley was complaining to the Commander about the officer of the watch. In the panic, he had recalled the liberty boat too soon because of a signal that all ships’ boats had to be out of the water by 8 p.m., and had left the captain’s steward on the quay.

‘There are twelve hundred lieutenants on the Navy List,’ Everley was saying in his gloomy voice. ‘That makes ’em two a penny. But in the course of God knows how long at sea, I’ve only met one good steward – mine – and he’s been left ashore.’

The captain’s secretary refused to give anything away, despite the fact that they all knew war was probably only hours away, and the next day everything that remained of a combustible nature which could be done without followed the boats and the woodwork ashore.

‘Are we to strip the cabins, sir?’ Kelly asked. ‘I’ve heard that
Raleigh
’s
removing the corticene from the messdeck.’

‘Raleigh’s
a blood-and-iron ship,’ the First Lieutenant said. ‘We’ll leave the corticene.’ He gave a sudden smile. ‘We might even get a few comfortable armchairs back on board, in fact, so that later we don’t have to have a whip round to purchase some more.’

More ships turned up and the long summer afternoon of August 4th, 1914, was spent waiting for the British ultimatum to expire. A signal had already been received, stating that it was due to terminate at midnight and in the early evening another signal arrived: ‘Admiralty to all ships. The war telegram will be issued at midnight authorising you to commence hostilities against Germany.’

With its receipt the panic stopped. There was a strange calm everywhere now. All the decisions had been taken and now they could only wait.

‘Ours not to reason why,’ Fanshawe said. ‘Ours but to do and die.’

‘Forty-eight hours from now,’ Kelly pointed out, ‘we’ll probably be dying like billy-o.’

He was keeping the first watch, from eight to midnight. It was hot and all the scuttles were wide open. But everybody seemed restless and the ship was humming with life.

The auxiliary machinery was whining and the ventilating fans provided background noise to the sound of a train squealing in the dock station and the marine sentry rattling his rifle butt on the concrete by the gangway. Cooking smells from the officers’ galley added flavour to the smell of oil, steam and that curious extra acrid odour that was peculiar to marine machinery. From ashore he could hear the sound of the crowds coming on the still air. The streets were full, as though everyone was uneasy and waiting like the Fleet, and faintly he heard the low tones of God Save The King as some group in an access of patriotic emotion began to sing. Then he heard the chimes of a church clock coming over the water and turned to Fanshawe who had relieved him.

‘That’s it, then! We’re in!’

When he came on watch again at 4 a.m., Fanshawe said in matter-of-fact tones, ‘We had a signal at 1.27 a.m., ordering us to commence hostile acts against Germany.’

‘And did we?’

‘Any moment now.’

As Fanshawe disappeared, Kelly found himself staring at the increasing light on the eastern horizon, suddenly confused by doubt. Was he as brave as he thought he was? Naval warfare was no longer a question of two ships lying alongside each other so that their crews could indulge in hand-to-hand fighting. These days, it was a matter of hurling huge quantities of high explosive across miles of sea, to wrench and tear at steel plating as if it were cardboard. A shell striking armour plate disintegrated in a flash into hundreds of red-hot, jagged splinters of steel that could tear a man in half.

Was he courageous enough to face the sights he’d undoubtedly have to face? Naval officers were trained to be a body of brave, self-sacrificing and intensely loyal officers, he’d often been told. But there was a great deal of difference between the word, which came from a book of rules, and the deed, which came from a man’s guts, his heart and his breeding. He wasn’t sure that he fitted all the requirements that were demanded of him and time alone would tell him if he were. What was worse, he’d noticed often that these same officers he was supposed to emulate, despite their undoubted courage and incontestable loyalty, had never had their critical faculties encouraged, so that none of them appeared to question anything, except within the rigid framework of that guide to the wise and law for the foolish,
King’s Regulations and Admiralty Instructions
. He could only hope that not only would he be brave but that he would also behave with intelligence.

As he went off watch, the ship was alive with men, their faces grave, working for the first time as if they knew that life itself now depended on how well their jobs were done. He pushed through them towards his cabin and, almost instinctively, took out the picture of Charley that she’d given him on his last leave, and stuck it in the corner of the mirror. He had no idea why he did it. She was still only a child from the point of view of experience and knowledge but somehow the gesture indicated the curious loyalty that had always existed between them, and in his mind’s eye he had a glimpse of her praying for him. Without thinking, he knelt by his bunk.

‘Let me conduct myself well, Lord,’ he asked.

He rose to his feet, faintly shamefaced, because he hadn’t got down on his knees outside church since he’d been a small boy. But the gesture had been instinctive and he sensed that it was right.

Let me conduct myself well, he thought again. That was all he could ask.

Within hours the war had started for him.

While they were at breakfast, a signal arrived detaching
Clarendon
to Commodore Reginald Tyrwhitt’s command at Harwich, and the wardroom cleared at once.

‘Pipe hands to prepare for sea!’

Pipes twittered and the master-at-arms and ship’s corporals went through the messes which immediately became a seething mass of running men. The sky was dark grey like the side of a battleship, with a lighter sword-stroke of pearl low on the horizon in the east. Beyond the muzzles of the forward turret Kelly could see the bustling activity of the cable party and an officer silhouetted against the guard rail. A bell jangled.

‘Engine room standing by!’

There was already excitement in the air. The war had only just begun and they still had no idea what to expect.

‘Pipe all hands for leaving harbour!’ The First Lieutenant glanced at his watch. ‘My respects to the captain. Tell him it’s ten minutes to slipping.’

The deck began to quiver and smoke began to curl down from the funnel in a dark plume like an ostrich feather in a woman’s hat. Everley appeared and placed himself in the centre of the bridge.

‘Special sea duty men closed up, sir. Ship ready for sea.’

‘Very well. Sound off.’

A bugle shrilled and there was the spatter of running feet.

‘Signal from ashore, sir! Proceed!’

Everley gave a small frown and Kelly wondered what he was thinking about. Why hadn’t he gone ashore himself to see his wife? Or did he, perhaps, prefer not to? God forbid, he thought, that I should end up like him, pretending, lying to myself. Thinking of Charley, he felt he never would.

Everley had moved to the front of the bridge now and was staring towards the bows. Suddenly his hangdog face seemed alive. Perhaps the poor devil preferred to be at sea. Perhaps at sea he felt safe. Perhaps at sea he didn’t have to look at his wife and realise what a mistake he’d made. As Fanshawe had said, the Navy was full of sad people like Everley, swept away by their emotions after serving too long in some torrid Far East port. The China Station where he’d come from was notorious as the graveyard of reputations, and men were always being sent home ruined by drink, speculative gambling, or women. Perhaps Everley was one.

One eye to port, Everley leaned on the bridge rail. At least, whatever else he’d lost, he’d not lost his touch. He made no gestures, just words spoken against a background hum from the ship’s generators, the occasional clatter of feet in the distance and low murmurs from the men on the deck waiting for him to give his orders.

‘Slow ahead together,’ he said quietly.

Bells jangled and the quivering that ran through the deck increased.

‘Slip!’

A harsh flurry of orders came from the forecastle with the rasping clatter of the wire. ‘All gone forrard, sir!’

Everley peered over the bridge coaming. ‘Watch her head, quartermaster. Half ahead port.’ There was a pause. ‘Slow ahead together.’

The white cliffs behind them began to swing and the oil-black water alongside slipped astern, littered with sagging armchairs, abandoned possessions, and the peacetime straw hats they’d worn ashore.

‘Forecastle secured for sea, sir!’

‘Very good. Fall out the hands and stand by to exercise action stations. I want every one checked.’ Everley permitted himself a small frosty smile. ‘After all, it
is
the first day of the war.’

As they turned west, heading towards the Outer Gabbard Light in the approaches to the Thames, the W/T office began to pick up signals from other ships and there was a stream of messages to the bridge.

‘I think the war’s started,’ Everley said with an unexpected cheerfulness, as if all his life he’d been waiting for this moment.

Fanshawe leaned across to Kelly. ‘Tyrwhitt’s out, and itching to draw the first blood of the war,’ he whispered. ‘Third Destroyer Flotilla’s making a sweep towards Holland.’

The sea was calm and the seamen moved about their duties quietly and efficiently. During the morning, the ship increased speed and the word was passed round that the destroyers were already being led into action by the light cruiser,
Amphion.
Immediately the air became electric.

‘That was quick,’ Kelly said. ‘What is it? High Seas Fleet come out?’

‘Nothing quite so important,’ Fanshawe said, ‘We’ve picked up a signal that a suspicious-looking steamer’s been seen throwing things overboard in the mouth of the Thames. The destroyers are searching for her and now, it seems, so are we, because they might be mines.’

At 10.30, they sighted
Amphion
through the haze, accompanied by the sleek shapes of several destroyers, one of which immediately swung round to challenge them. Recognising
Clarendon,
she took up a position alongside.

‘Steamer identified as
Königin Luise
seen laying mines,’ she flashed across the grey water. ‘Position west of longitude three east.’

Shortly afterwards, they came up on a converging course with other destroyers, and in the distance saw a small grey steamer heading eastwards at full speed, smoke pouring from her funnels. With
Clarendon
close behind and hauling up fast, the destroyers began to fire. Then
Clarendon
’s
guns barked; the crash as the forward battery opened up seemed to be the signal for the start of their new life, and they caught their first whiff of cordite fumes in wartime.

‘By God, we’ve hit her!’ The First Lieutenant sounded amazed. ‘I do believe we’ve done our first war damage!’

The destroyers’ shells were driving home on the steamer now. Two more ships had arrived and, in the distance, still more were in sight, steering to the sound of the guns across the grey horizon.

Königin Luise
was sinking as they came up with her, her decks and upperworks smashed, and Kelly was aware of the first shock of war. He’d never seen a ship sink before.

‘They’re abandoning,’ Everley said, and they saw men jumping overboard.

The German ship’s engines had not been stopped and she was still moving slowly ahead until, turning on to her side, she settled down and finally rolled over and disappeared beneath the waves. Everybody had come on deck to watch, and they were all chattering and pointing, half-clad stokers mixed with the deck crew and Marines. There was a cheer as
Königin Luise
vanished but no jeers or laughter and not much excitement, just a general quiet awe. Like Kelly, most of them had never seen a ship sink before and the thought that next time it might be their own was enough to silence the wags.

Watched by
Amphion
and
Clarendon,
the destroyers were lowering boats now and they could see men being dragged aboard, some of them obviously hurt. There was clearly nothing for
Clarendon
to do and she was obviously in the way.

‘Have the hands return to their stations,’ Everley said. ‘I think we’re somewhat de trop here and the destroyers’ll think we’re trying to steal their thunder.’

Bells clanged and the deck quivered as they resumed course. Nobody had anything much to say. It was as if they were all deep in thought, aware of the implications of what they’d seen. As the day advanced, however, spirits picked up and the sinking of the single little ship became a major victory so that there were laughter and shouts from the lower deck that lasted all the way to Harwich. They had barely arrived, however, when Fanshawe, ashore to pick up signals, brought news that stopped the excitement dead in its tracks.

‘Amphion’s
gone,’ he said in a flat voice. ‘Struck one of
Königin Luise’s
mines on her way home. Practically everybody in the fore part of the ship was killed instantly.’

‘Tit for tat.’ Kelly looked at his watch. ‘If it’s going to be like this all the time, it’s going to be a bloody busy war.’

Fanshawe smiled. ‘Particularly for you, Maguire’ he said. ‘Orders have come through for you. You’re due for a torpedo specialist’s course at the end of the year, it seems. Something to do with joining submarines.’

‘Good God! I applied for that years ago. I’d forgotten all about it.’

‘When you sup with the Navy, you need a long spoon. Until the course comes up you’re posted to
Cressy
, Seventh Cruiser Squadron.’

‘Cressy
!’ Kelly glared. ‘For God’s sake,
Cressy’s
a Third Fleet ship, a rotten old four-piper, and she’s supposed to be full of bloody reservists, isn’t she?’

Fanshawe’s smile widened. ‘There
are
a lot of elderly gentlemen aboard, I do believe,’ he agreed. ‘In fact, there are so many, they felt they had to lighten the mixture a bit with a few lively youngsters, and when the Old Man was asked to give up one of his watchkeepers, since you were going anyway, with the usual naval ingratitude, he decided it might as well be you. You go as soon as your relief arrives.’